


Go Away, Mary

by crayonbreakygal



Series: So What Now? [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Mary Morstan, BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Laughing John Watson, Romance, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Sherlock gets advice from Mary.  Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go again. I wanted to write something about Mary, so here it is. You know if she was alive, she'd totally be into this. And that Sherlock would muck it up. This is the third in series, not 5th. Not sure what AO3 is doing. There is a glitch somewhere. So it's number 3!!!!!

“Go Away, Mary”

Takes place after The Final Problem, season four

 

“Why are you sitting there?”

“Because it’s a comfy chair.”

“No, I mean, why are you in here?”

Sherlock pointed to his head.

“Not my fault.”

“Entirely your fault.   Get out.”

She didn’t move.

“You called me up, not the other way around.  So?”

“So?”

“Talk. Haven’t got all day.”

“You have nowhere to go.  You’re in my mind.”

“How do you know that?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, wishing she’d just go away.

“Sherlock, aren’t you on a time schedule?”

Sherlock slumped over in his chair, head down on the back of it, long legs spread wide to support his position.

“Oh dear lord, you certainly do pout with the best of them.”

“Just tell me why you’re here.”

“This isn’t going to be solved by leaving it be.”

“Not what I’m doing.”

She tapped her foot up against John’s chair.  Tap, tap, tap.  Tap, tap, tap.

It was mid-afternoon.  John had left a few hours before, saying that he actually had to earn a living instead of staring at the consulting detective.  There were no new cases on the horizon, so Sherlock had too much time to think.  Either it was Eurus and his issues that were deep, or it was the other issue he had not dealt with since he’d caught Eurus. 

“I think you’re a fool.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re sitting here talking to a dead woman, actually asking her advice.”

Mary.  Guilty much?

“If it’s my mind palace, wouldn’t I be talking to myself?”

“Hey, I can leave any time.”

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, to will her away.  It didn’t work.

“So?”

“I need help.”

“Finally.”

Mary crossed her legs, settling into John’s chair for the duration.  Sherlock shook his head back and forth against the back of the chair, curls catching on occasion.  He was nervous.  He most certainly didn’t want to talk about that.

“And?”

“What do I do?” Sherlock finally asked.

“Do about what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re in my mind. You know.”

“If you can’t say it out loud.”

“I told Molly I love her.  There. Satisfied?”

He covered his face with his hands. Was it embarrassment he was feeling? 

“There, now was that so hard?”

“Apparently.”

“Have you spoken with her since you came back?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Not good.” Mary winced.

“Not good what?”

“Well, when you tell someone that you love them, then perhaps they would respond with some kind of gesture. So, nothing?”

“Nothing. Nada.  No call, no text, no visit.”

“Oh.”

“What do I do?”

“Send her flowers?”

“Really?”

Wrenching himself out of his chair, Sherlock paced back and forth in front of Mary.  It wasn’t a long pace since the room wasn’t that large, but it made him feel a tiny bit better.

“How much trouble am I in?”

Mary gestured with her fingers spread about an inch wide.  Then she grinned at him and spread both hands more than a foot wide.

Sherlock turned and sighed a dramatic sigh.

“You can fix this.  Turn on that charm of yours.”

“Yes, just what I need to do.  Then she’ll never believe me.”

Mary placed her hand over her mouth, sputtering as she did.

“It’s actually true.”

“Yes.”

“Oh bloody hell. You’ve done it now.”

“Ideas?”

“You need to talk to her, in person. Clear this up.”

“Yes, you’re right. I can tell her that I am no good for her, not right in any sense of the imagination.  Should clear it right up.”

“Imbecile.”

“Not good?”

“You’d be lying.”

“She knows when I lie. At least Molly 2.0 knows when I’m lying.  It’s possible that Molly 1.0 knew it also, but she was too nice to say anything.”

“You number her?”

“1.0 happened before the fall.  2.0 is after.  It’s possible there is a 3.0 after those slaps, but I haven’t decided yet.”

“You most certainly deserved that one.  Or two.  Or three.”

Sherlock rubbed his cheek in remembrance.

“You need to tell her how you really feel.”

“How do I really feel?”

Mary growled back, possibly for his ignorance. He wasn’t sure.

“You tell a woman that you love them while being held hostage. The hostage taker knows when you lie, so you have to be believable to the point of not lying.”

“Maybe we’re just friends.”

“Do not friendzone her.”

“Friendzone?”

“Your lack of knowledge sometimes appalls me.”

“She’s my friend.”

“And much more.  Tell her what you feel.”

“Ok. I will,” he concluded.

“Don’t muck it up.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t friendzone her.”

“Not a chance.”

 

“You mucked it up, didn’t you?”

How did John know?  Did Molly call him or vice versa?

“How?  No, of course not.”

“Bruise near your eye says otherwise.”

“An accident.”

“Sure.  Molly’s fist accidentally collided with your face.”

“It was her elbow.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?”

Sherlock slumped in his chair again, John turning pages on the paper he was attempting to read.

“Try again.”

“Try again?”

“Sherlock, you must have said something to set her off.  I know you.”

“All I did was tell her how I felt.”

“You friendzoned her.”

“Why do people keep telling me this?”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

Pushing himself up out of his chair, he was determined to make things right with Molly, even if that meant more bruises.

“You might want to duck next time.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock yelled as he made his way down the steps.

 

“What are you doing here?”

“I knocked.”

“Still.”

Molly looked at him with anger and hostility.

“I wanted to apologize.  Sometime I can’t find the right words.”

“Sometimes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Alright.  Just so the neighbors don’t hear me yelling at you.”

“No yelling, I promise.”

Molly stood before him, ratty pajamas, wine glass in hand, hair all skewed in her ponytail.  Typical Molly.  He’d seen her this way hundreds of times.

“Would you like some ice?”

Ice? Why would she be talking about ice?”

“Your face.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.”

“It’s swollen.”

“Quite.”

Instead of listening to him, she walked to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of peas to put on his face.  Handing it to him, she crossed her arms defensively over her body.  Last time had not gone well.  His words were all jumbled, just like his mind at the moment.

“Choose your words wisely,” she warned him.

Placing the bag over his eye, he winced in pain.  He’d been injured and treated more times by Molly than he wanted to remember.  That she had caused this particular injury was not lost on him.

“I apologize.”

“For?”

“I misspoke yesterday.”

“About?”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Why should I?”

Thinking back, he determined where he went wrong.  One, she really didn’t believe what he’d said. Two, he had indeed “friendzoned” her as both Mary and John had said. And three, she possibly did not want the same thing he wanted. He had not wanted to believe three, so he’d erase that one from his memory.

“Just tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you say it?”  Molly asked him.

“Because it’s true.”

Molly rolled her eyes at him.

“Prove it. Go on, prove it. You’re so smart, Sherlock Holmes. Prove what you said was not a lie.”

Sherlock blinked at her.  He had to prove it?  Didn’t she just know it? She’d answered back, luckily. He certainly believed her.

“Why don’t you believe me?  Why don’t you prove it to me?”

“Do not throw this back at me.”

Another fight. He did not want to get into another fight with her.

“I’m not. I won’t.  Ok, proving it. You’re bright, smart, a nice person.  You cherish what friends you have.  You’re helpful.”

“You make me sound like a loyal dog.”

“I’m not done.”

“Continue.”

Should he tell her she smelled divine after her shower?  That her ratty pajamas accentuated every single feature on her body?  That her eyes bore into his soul and knew the real him?  That he wanted to kiss her senseless right at that moment even though she may hit him again?

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“Well, I…”

“Your eyes. You don’t know this but they change color. I observe too.  When you’re angry or sad or happy, which isn’t often mind you, they change color.  I might be making this up, but when you’re sad, the color washes right out, like they’re almost grey.  When you’re happy, the blue just pops. Angry, the brown shows through.”

“Right now?”

“The colors of the rainbow.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’ve never seen your eyes do that.  Isn’t that strange?”

She edged closer to him, looking him in the eyes.

“Your pupils are dilated, the brown spot dark. There’s blue and green and a fleck of gold.  It’s mesmerizing.”

Sherlock’s breathing became shorter as she got closer.

“It’s like a stormy sea.”

They were mere inches from each other, not touching.

“Molly,” he said, voice going deep.

“You know what that does to me, don’t you?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re not lying.”

“Nope.”

“Bastard,” was the last thing he heard before she crashed her lips to his.

Why hadn’t he done this before?  He’d had plenty of opportunities to snog her senseless.  They stood like that, in her kitchen, for what seemed like hours, exploring each other’s mouths until she came up for air.

“What just happened?”

“No idea.”

“Deduce me, Sherlock Holmes.”

That went straight to his gut, seeing the look in her eyes, that she wanted him, believed in him.

“Finally,” Mary said in his mind.  He brushed her aside and dove in for another go.

 

“Your neck?”

“What?”

“Your neck? Did you have another go round with Molly? I swear, if you hurt her.”

Sherlock and Molly had spent the last few days together, learning each other, but hadn’t said a word to anyone else of their new found relationship.

“I didn’t hurt her. Although…”

“Although?”

Sherlock leveraged himself out of his chair, every muscle in his body sore. John giggled, then started laughing so hard, there were tears coming out of his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” he said between guffaws.  “Tell Molly I approve.”

“Approve? Of what?”

“Tying you down.”

Sherlock sputtered, then carefully walked over to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

Mary’s snort followed him as he filled the kettle with water.


End file.
